Another Perspective

Just a moment ago I stood outside to look into the wide valley. Not entirely the same as the view of this Blipfoto, which I took earlier this evening. Now clouds and misty veils were drifting over the river and from between the trees. It was still raining a bit. I stood there feeling wonder, inhaling deeply the moist evening air. A few birds were still signaling their high pitched presence. They do not hesitate to sing their humble life song, I said to myself. It is simply done as their particular way of Being. Singing happens to Be. Why not: writing equally happens to Be?


But what when the one who writes, feels preoccupied, blocked, uninspired, sick, tired? Could you imagine that Finch sighing: Ohno, I don’t feel ok now, lets skip the singing...So, if we really listen - not to our own Wheeny Stories of All the Troubles We’ve Seen, Been Through - if we really dare to open up to the Deep Silent Hymn of Being, in stead of keeping turning around in Petty Ego-Circles, then, What happens then and here? There is some jolly writing and reading again. Not quite in the same way as before The Great Silence. And hopefully in a more relaxed way, in a more F*** It-way, so to say.

Dear Pipersmom & Other Friends, thankyou for your Fidelity in keeping following this journal. And I must confess that your calling out yesterday, kept turning around in my heart&mind.. Seriously asking into the deeper grounds of my keeping away from journal-writing, I understood that I only would have to let loose this petty ego-resistance, in order to open myself up for a Universal Tune, this true Voice, which is to Be sung&listened to. Just as the light is fading on this moist Sunday-evening. As I turn around to enter and close the door. Good Night, Birdies...